Month: August 2013

Even as the vines grow up your walls we weave them into wreaths
As the roaches and moths overwhelm your abandoned house we block them into morality tales (with maybe too much comic relief)
And as your uneaten fruit festers and your closet molds we will get drunk with the crows within,
and slur and roar with the local sirens and brinksmen about your alarming decline
And likely as not while the cool night air struggles with your busted lungs
we observe this information’s age
until the stars can no longer resist the mordant vat of all this cold dry dark about
Yet we practice within your nodding absences all the while